


Mutual Misery I

by SidneyJane



Series: Mutual Misery [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogsmeade, M/M, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Three Broomsticks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 11:49:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidneyJane/pseuds/SidneyJane
Summary: It had been some time since the war - quite some time. A sense of routine and calm had descended upon Harry’s life, and he wasn’t at all mad about it. He remained at Hogwarts, his dreams of being an Auror shattered by his immense celebrity, and found himself being the longest serving Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and something of a recluse. Somethings aren’t all as perfect as they seem, however.





	Mutual Misery I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of fan fiction, I only usually write original works.  
> Please feel free to leave a Kudos or Comment!

Harry awoke with a start, sweat dripping down his face and the sound of blood gushing in his ears. His breath caught in his chest and his hands gripped the sheets beneath him. He clenched his eyes shut, keeping in the tears that threatened to spill down his face. He felt a sob rising in his chest but held it in the best he could. He dared to open his eyes and calmed when he saw that he was in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place, not the Forbidden Forest walking to his certain death. He gasped for breath, hoping now to fill his lungs with air to replace the rising feeling of dread that filled him.

“Kreacher!” He cried aloud, hoping that the House Elf could provide some relief.

He sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands and a heavy chest. He had always thought that his nightmares would end when Voldemort had been defeated, but instead it just served to give him more material. The small body of Keracher appeared in front of him, head bowed as he met his master.

“Is it happening again, Master?” His voice, aged and rough as it was, was sympathetic. The relationship between Harry and Kreacher had improved somewhat over the years. Kreacher didn’t mind working for Harry Potter, because he treated him with respect and decency.

Harry nodded his response, head still in his hands, taking slow purposeful breaths to calm his nerves. The old Elf had learned to deal with Harrys nightmares over the years. Harry stood, slowly, and followed Kreacher downstairs. As they walked, Kreacher waved his hands at the fireplaces and a warm orange glow filled the rich halls of the house as they shuffled towards the Kitchen.

Harry sat, alone, at the long table in the kitchen. His breathing had slowed, his brow was dry, and his hands had stopped shaking. Kreacher placed a chipped mug full of hot chocolate in front of Harry, and presented him with a plate of hot crumpets. Harry looked favourably upon Kreacher, and smiled briefly at him.

“Thank you, Kreacher. I’m sorry if I woke you.” Harry wrapped his hands appreciatively around the mug, and took a long sip. There was something so soothing about chocolate. It warmed him like nothing else.

“It’s no bother, Master,” Kreacher responded quietly, “I was readying myself to wake you anyway.”

Harry glanced at the muggle watch he’d taken to wearing, and saw that it was 8:30 am. He’d have to ready his trunks to return to Hogwarts for the start of term tomorrow. Kreacher wandered out of the Kitchen and Harry could hear him opening curtains and cursing the dust under his breath.

Harry returned to his bedroom, the room that had been Sirius’ many years ago, and saw that Kreacher had anticipated his desire to pack his trunks himself for they sat near the wardrobe open and empty. Harry managed a smile, his return to Hogwarts, even after so many years always felt like a return home – Grimmauld place was simply his weekend house, he felt.

He packed his trunks carefully, selecting a mix of wizarding clothes and muggle clothes and handled with care his old Gryffindor scarf that he still wore on occasion. He felt a pang of loneliness. Hermione and Ron were happily married, living together with their big family. Hermione was well on her way to becoming the youngest Minister for Magic, and Ron was a surprisingly successful Auror. Harry smiled, knowing that his friends were doing well, but resented their busy career choices as they had little time to see each other like they used to.

Harry changed his clothes, pulled on his shoes and went downstairs. Kreacher greeted him in the Hallway.

“Are you all packed, Master?” he asked, a smirk on his face.

“Yes, Kreacher, thank you,” Harry pulled on some gloves, and looked down at the elf smirking back at him, “Would you be more than willing to send me anything that I have probably forgotten?” He asked, knowing that this had happened every year since he started teaching at Hogwarts.

“Of course, Master.” The elf bowed.

***

Hogwarts was largely empty; a few teachers had trickled in and the Castle was being warmed through. Hagrid – now an old man – could be seen getting the castle ready for the swathes of students that would soon arrive on the steps, ready to learn.

Harry’s office was quite large, it had been Professor Lupins office when he taught here and it held fond memories for Harry. There was a small bedroom to one side that served him well during the week, and he quite quickly settled back in.

He busied himself, making sure that he had everything ready for the beginning of term – he planned what he wanted to teach, made sure that all of the equipment he would need was in working order. The wardrobe with a boggart in it creaked in the corner, Harry shot it a glance with a smile on his face, remembering how Professor Lupins classes had made him feel. He spent the day like this, getting ready for the year, settling back in, and remembering his own time as a student here.

The teachers ate together, for the first night, not sitting at the high table but rather at what would be the Gryffindor table. The new potions master had not yet arrived, and it seemed that most of the teachers Harry spoke to had no clue who it was. Neville Longbottom greeted Harry with a firm handshake and a warm smile.

“Hullo Harry,” he smiled, “Good to see you again! You really must drop by the Three Broomsticks this year,” he glanced at Harry, knowing that he didn’t venture out much because he tended to get surrounded easily, “Hannah and I could make sure that you have some peace and quiet.”

“Thank you, Neville,” Harry replied, knowing that Neville knew he would probably not take him up on the offer, “I’ll think about it.” He guessed that he had become somewhat of a recluse, worried constantly about the hordes of wizards and witches that flocked to him in the street. His only relief was often to go out into the muggle world where no one knew who he was. He had some muggle friends, of course, who believed that he was a history teacher at some obscure boarding school in Scotland.

The meal passed in relative silence for Harry, who just appreciated being in this old castle again.

He spent the night in his office, in front of the fire place, cosying down. He often forgot how cold Grimmauld place could be, with its lofty rooms and grand furniture. He much preferred the soft, warm ambience of Hogwarts.

His fire crackled away as he fell to sleep, curled under a blanket. Home, at last.

***

Harry waited with anticipation. The sorting ceremony had finished, and the excited first years now sat happily in their houses. He saw several shocked faces glancing at him every now and then, the words ‘Harry Potter’ on their lips. This made him feel uncomfortable. The actions of his childhood had caused everyone to have very high expectations of him: expectations that he was always worried he would not fulfil. For now, though, he would just entertain the new amazed first years as best he could.

The new potions master, it would seem, had had some kind of obligation to see to and so could not make it for the first feast of the year. It was assured, however, that they would be arriving soon.

Harry loitered after the feast, greeting some of his existing students and asking after their summer. There was a particular group of friends that reminded him of himself, Ron and Hermione, and they were always lively enough to stop Harry’s worries that he could not fulfil his legacy as the one who finally finished Voldemort. He also greeted new students, something that he did every year, and let them ask him a few questions – just to create some form of rapport between himself and the new students. He let them see his scar, and told them some of the tamer stories about his time hunting horcruxes. He told them of the sunrise over the cliffs, and having campfires in the evening with his friends.

He did not tell them of the nightmares that he still had, or of the emotional scars that his life had left on him.

After he had met the excited first years, caught up with his continuing students and bid goodnight to his colleagues, Harry wondered back through the familiar corridors back to his office. The restoration of Hogwarts after the Battle was impeccable. Even Harry, who had been the cause of all the damage, could not tell that the castle had been left practically in ruins. He strolled, hands in his pockets, through the building, musing over every tiny detail and memory that were tucked around every corner.

“Potter.” A voice cut through his daydreaming. A cold voice, a voice from the past that Harry had thought he would never encounter again. He turned on his heels, suddenly on edge.

“Malfoy,” He greeted, intending for his voice to be as hard and cold has his adversary’s, but not at all matching the level of arrogance that Malfoy could summon, “I imagine that you are the new Potions master?” He stopped trying to sound cold, any unsavoury feelings towards Malfoy had been forgotten years ago – after all these years Harry had simply let it go. As he looked at Malfoy he was stunned by his appearance. He was, very much the same, only older. Flecks of grey hinted at the edges of his snowy hair, and he was dressed very smartly in all black. He was wrapped in a very expensive looking cape, fastened with a silver snake that has charmed to look real. Harry was actually impressed with the way Malfoy held himself.

Malfoy looked blankly at Harry, “Obviously,” he replied, in a manner that made Harry think of Professor Snape, “I half expected you to be cranking out books on your feats or basking in your glory.” He had no feeling in his voice, no hatred, no happiness, no sadness – nothing.

It had been some time since Harry had last seen Malfoy, and he was expecting things to be difficult. He had always said that he understood why Malfoy did the things he did, and was instrumental in making sure that Malfoy did not receive punishment for his actions, knowing full well that he was just as much of a victim as anyone else. Not that Malfoy knew that, of course.

“I try to stay out of things now,” Harry said, extending a hand as a peace offering between the two, “but I’m glad to see that you’re here to keep me in check.”

Malfoy took his hand, his long pale fingers clasped around Harrys tightly, “I suppose I’m glad to see you too, Potter.” His words meant well, but there was still no feeling to them.

Harry nodded slightly, and turned to go back to his quarters, a strange feeling deep in his stomach like something was about to happen.


End file.
